Epilogue
by Kianira
Summary: School project I decided to post. Around 20-30 yrs. later. K  for violence references, no swearing, though. Enjoy, and don't forget to R&R!


**This was a school project, figured you all might like to read it. It is an epilogue, so… **

**Disclaimer- Don't own, don't sue.**

I watched as the golden sun sprouted over the dark horizon, shedding light on the rural Oklahoma countryside. The call of an early-rising bird sounded in the distance, as if to signal the coming of the new day. But it wasn't this morning that I was lost in. It was a sunrise not unlike the one that was before me. Though it was nearly twenty years ago the same sun rose over the horizon at dawn, it still felt like someone had taken a knife to my heart every time I thought of the week that changed my life.

For a good deal of time after the tragedy of that week, I was caught in denial. The olive-skinned boy with dark eyes that had seen too much hate, the man whose features were full of bloodlust, the boy that I had barely known, young and drunk, they weren't dead, couldn't _really _be gone from this world forever, they were too young, too full of life to die.

Anger quickly followed denial, and I became uncontrollable. I hated the world, and everyone in it. I began to think it was the Soc's fault, that they were the root of all evil. It was all Darry and Soda could do to stop me from outright murdering them all.

Anger subsided to deep depression, and I drifted through the days, not caring what I did or who it affected. I knew I hurt all of the people I cared most about, but at that time, I couldn't have cared less. I thought they didn't understand. But they were going through the same thing, only they had to hold themselves together, for not only my sake, but theirs.

In spite of it all, I was able to move forward and get on with my life. But I still remember every time I watch the sun rise.

"Dad?"

The silence was disintegrated by the sound of my son's voice, accompanied by the distinguishable creak of the screen door. He walked out of the ranch-style house into the golden mist of the dawn.

"What's the matter, son?" I said in all kindness.

"I, well, I, um, couldn't sleep," He stumbled over the words. "Why are you awake? It's five in the morning."

"Just watching the sunrise, and thinking of some old friends."

"Like Steve and Two-Bit?" I raised my eyebrows questioningly at his disrespect.

"Fine, _Uncle _Steve and _Uncle _Two-Bit."

I sighed. "No, I see so much of those idiots; I don't have the time to think about them."

He chuckled. He was growing up so fast.

"No, I was thinking about some other friends. Some friends you never got to meet, and I'm afraid you never will."

"Why not?" He asked naively.

I pondered it for a moment, thinking of the right way to answer.

"Son, I've gotta show you something. Wait right here." He sat in one of the dingy white porch chairs obediently.

I dug through the files hidden away in the farthest corner of the attic, until I finally found it, my homework assignment from so very long ago. I blew on the old paper, which had accumulated a significant amount of dust over the past twenty years, and hurried back to the porch.

"Here it is. Son, I think you'd better read this."

He studied the manuscript for a moment, wondering what it might conceal. He opened it, and began to read.

* * *

I studied the book that lay in front of me. It was quite small, not exceeding three hundred pages. The Outsiders, the title read. It fit perfectly. I made a mental note to thank my son, whose constant nagging and incessant pleas brought the story to life.

I looked at the book, _my_ book. Now the whole world can know the horrible tragedy.

I never asked for fame. I may have asked for the fortune once or twice, though. I have been through countless interviews, all revolving around one question; did all of this really happen, to you?

All I can say is yes, because it really _did _happen. It happens everywhere, in big cities, small towns, quiet suburbs.

It took twenty years for my story to be told. I sometimes wonder how many young people I could have saved from the violence if I had tried to make a difference.

But I usually don't concern myself with these thoughts, or let these questions devour me. For now, I'll just keep watching sunrises, letting myself drown in memories, until reality forces me back to the surface to face the challenges the new day will inevitably bring.

**R & R please! All feedback is appreciated, though I won't be writing more for this. ~Kia**


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